Chapter 14 Mia
MIA
The safehouse feels colder with Asher’s withdrawal. It’s not something that’s obvious—he still does his job, still mans the security feeds and checks the locks—but it’s different. I count the days in my head. He leaves in five days. Five days before I never see him again.
The girls notice first.
“Why doesn’t Agent Asher play with us anymore?” Emma asks at breakfast, poking half-heartedly at her cereal. “Did we do something wrong?”
I force a smile, smoothing Emma’s wild curls. “Of course not, baby. He’s just busy.”
Ella frowns. “He’s always busy now.”
I don’t have an answer for that.
At night, Asher takes the late shift, volunteering for perimeter duty instead of bedtime stories. At meals, he sits at the farthest seat, barely speaking. When the girls tug at his sleeve, he ruffles their hair but doesn’t stay.
One evening, Emma follows him to the front hallway, her little fists clenched at her sides. “You don’t love us anymore,” she accuses, her lower lip trembling.
The pain in Asher’s eyes is instant, but he masks it quickly. He crouches, meeting her gaze. “That’s not true, bug,” he says, his voice gentle.
“Then why don’t you play with us?” Emma demands.
“I’m just making sure you’re safe,” he answers, and it’s not a lie. But it’s not the whole truth, either.
Emma sniffles. “I miss you.”
I can’t take it. The lump in my throat swells, and I have to leave before I lose it in front of them.
I escape to the laundry room, gripping the edge of the counter as tears prick at my eyes. I don’t understand why it hurts so much. Maybe because I’m watching it all happen again. Someone coming into my daughters’ lives, making them feel safe, and then pulling away.
I don’t hear the door open, but I feel his presence behind me. “Mia.”
Asher’s voice is soft, but I can’t face him right now. I shake my head, pressing my palms against my eyes. “Don’t. Just… don’t.”
A long silence stretches between us.
Then, quietly, he says, “I didn’t mean to hurt them.”
My chest tightens. “Then why are you?”
More silence.
I turn around, but Asher is already gone.
Something is definitely off with him, and I need to figure out what it is.
I follow him, eventually tracking him to the security room, the glow of the monitors casting sharp shadows across his face.
His hands are folded over his stomach as he leans back in the chair, unreadable, distant.
But I know the tension when I see it. The kind that coils inside you before you do something you know you’ll regret.
“The girls miss you,” I say.
“They’ll adjust.” He doesn’t even glance at me, eyes locked on the screens like they hold the only thing that matters. “It’s safer this way.”
Safer.
That word gnaws at me.
“What do you mean?” I step closer, trying to see his expression.
His jaw tightens, like he’s holding something in. “Mia, you—Damon, you—Zane.” He exhales sharply, finally turning to look at me. “This can’t work.”
His voice is controlled, but there’s something underneath it. Something fraying at the edges.
My pulse kicks up. “What are you saying?”
“I’ve taken another job.” He swallows. “I leave in a week.”
I stare at him, the weight of those words pressing down on my chest. “You’re leaving.”
“I have to.”
The way he says it—like he’s trying to convince himself, not just me—makes my hands curl into fists.
I should be angry. I should tell him he’s a coward for running when things get complicated.
But I see it now—the way he’s pulling back, the way he’s shutting down.
He thinks he’s protecting himself. Or protecting me.
I shake my head. “So that’s it? You just disappear?”
He lets out a humorless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Mia, what do you want me to do? Stay and pretend like this is normal? That I can just—” He cuts himself off, dragging in a breath. “I don’t do complicated. And this? This is complicated.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I hate it. Hate that I care. “You don’t have to do anything, Asher.” My voice is quieter now, but steadier. “But don’t act like the girls don’t love you. That I—” I bite my tongue before I can finish that sentence.
I want him here, more than I can admit.
“It’s better this way, Mia,” he says.
Before I can argue, a piercing alarm shatters the air, the high-pitched wail slicing through the house like a knife. My heart lurches.
For a second, I’m frozen, heart slamming against my ribs. Then Zane’s voice crackles over the radio, sharp and urgent.
“Perimeter breach, east side!”
Gunfire shatters the night.
Asher’s entire demeanor shifts in an instant, his hesitation gone, all business. His body coils like a loaded spring, his hand already reaching for the firearm at his hip.
“Get to the panic room,” Asher orders me. “Now.”
My breath catches. “But the twins—”
“They’re safer there than anywhere else.” His tone leaves no room for argument. “Move, Mia.”
I don’t argue. I turn and bolt down the hall, every survival instinct screaming at me to get to my daughters.
My feet pound against the hardwood as I race toward the twins' room. My hands shake as I push open the door.
Emma and Ella are already awake, clinging to each other, their wide eyes darting around in confusion.
“Mommy?” Ella’s voice trembles. “What’s happening?”
I scoop them up, one arm around each of them, pressing kisses to their hair. “We’re playing a game, baby. Super Secret Agent Mission. We have to get to the safe room, remember?”
Emma nods, but she’s shaking, too.
I hurry down the hall, my mind racing, my heart hammering. The gunshots have stopped, but the silence feels even worse. Like something’s coming.
We’re halfway up the stairs when the sound of breaking glass explodes through the house. The twins shriek, clinging to me, their tiny hands digging into my arms. My heartbeat is a wild drum in my ears.
Then Damon appears at the top of the stairs. He pulls the girls out of my arms and starts to run ahead, both of them secured in his arms.
I don’t hesitate. I grab the railing, practically dragging myself up the remaining steps as more shots ring out from outside. My breath comes too fast, panic clawing at my chest.
Then—a cry of pain.
Zane.
My stomach twists. The sound is unmistakable, raw and agonized.
My feet stutter. I start to turn back, but Damon barks, “Keep moving, Mia. Now.”
I can barely think, barely breathe, but I force myself forward.
Damon hands back the twins, shoving them into my arms. Their little faces are tear-streaked, their sobs muffled against my chest as I pull them close.
“Zane,” My voice cracks. “He’s—”
“Alive,” Damon grits out. “But we have to secure you before we go back out there.”
The words feel like a knife to my ribs, but I know he’s right. I clutch Emma and Ella tighter, whispering reassurances I don’t believe as Damon punches the code into the panel.
Another round of gunfire sounds outside. Footsteps storm through the lower level.
Damon pushes me through the threshold. “Stay put. Do not open this door unless you hear my voice.”
“Stay with them,” Asher tells Damon from the bottom of the staircase. His voice is clipped, focused, but when his eyes finally meet mine—for the first time in days—there’s something else there. Something raw.
“I’ll get Zane,” Asher says.
Before I can process that, voices filter in from outside.
“Contact confirmed. One threat neutralized. We move in.”
I don’t recognize the voice. It isn’t Damon. It isn’t Asher. And it sure as hell isn’t Zane.
Asher stiffens. “Shit.” He starts forward.
“Like hell you’re going alone.” I move before I can second-guess myself, stepping into his path. “I’m a nurse. If he’s hurt—”
“No,” both Damon and Asher cut me off. Different voices, but same damn answer.
I whirl on Damon. “Stay with the twins. They need you.”
He’s already shaking his head. “Mia—”
“I’ll be fine,” I cut him off, already moving. I don’t wait for permission. I don’t need it.
Damon swears behind me, but he doesn’t follow. He won’t leave the girls. He can’t.
I fall into step beside Asher, my heart hammering in my chest. I don’t have a gun. I don’t have training. But I have my hands, my knowledge, and the sheer refusal to let Zane bleed out alone.
Asher doesn’t argue. He just curses under his breath and presses a spare earpiece into my hand. “Stay behind me.” It’s not a request.
I clip it in place as we reach the end of the hall. The front door is ajar. The night outside is thick with tension.
Then we hear it: a pained groan.
Zane.
Asher meets my gaze for a split second before he slips through the door. I follow without hesitation.
We find Zane slumped against the garden wall, one hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood seeps between his fingers, dark against his shirt. My stomach twists.
Beyond the fence, two figures disappear into the night. Too fast, too smooth. They knew what they were doing.
“Just a graze,” Zane grunts, wincing as I crouch beside him. “I’ve had worse.”
That doesn’t stop me from yanking his hand away, checking the wound myself. The bullet only nicked him, but the wound is still bleeding too much. My fingers shake as I apply pressure.
“Who were they?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Zane exhales sharply. “Doesn’t matter. They got what they wanted.”
A chill settles in my spine. I glance up at Asher, who’s scanning the perimeter, gun still in hand. His expression is grim.
“Intel,” Asher mutters. “They were testing our response time. Our patterns.”
The realization sinks in like a stone. This wasn’t just an attack. It was a rehearsal.
Jason’s just getting started.
I press down on Zane’s wound harder than necessary, and he hisses through his teeth. “You’re welcome,” I mutter.
“Sadist,” he grumbles.
“Can you walk?” Asher asks Zane, stepping beside me.
Zane gives a short nod. “Not gracefully, though.”
“Let’s go.” Asher hooks an arm under Zane’s good shoulder, helping haul him up. Zane grits his teeth but doesn’t protest, which is concerning. He’s too damn stubborn to admit when he needs help.
Every nerve in my body stays on edge, waiting for another shot, another threat. But the night is quiet now, eerily so.
Inside, Damon meets us at the door, gun still in hand. His gaze flicks to Zane’s shoulder, then to me. “How bad?”
“He’ll live,” I say, leading them toward the kitchen. “But I need supplies.”
Damon nods once. “I’ll grab the kit.”
“Where are the kids?” I ask.
“Upstairs. They’re okay, just a little shaken. I gave them some Dramamine to calm down. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No, that’s okay,” I say. “You did good.”
Zane exhales roughly as we lower him onto a chair. He leans his head back, closing his eyes. “I’m never getting hazard pay for this, am I?” he mutters.
“Nope,” Asher says, smirking.
I shoot them both a look. “Less talking, more sitting still.”
Zane grins at me, but there’s exhaustion behind it. “Yes, ma’am.”
Damon returns with the first aid kit, and I get to work. The whole time, one thought pounds in my head—this was just a test. And next time, Jason won’t be testing. He’ll come to finish what he started.
Zane lets out a breathy chuckle as I press gauze against his wound. “You’re always fixing me.”
I glance up, confused, until I remember. The night we met, when I cleaned up the cuts and bruises Jason left on him. Back when I still thought my life was complicated but manageable.
“Not doing a very good job of it,” I mumble, taping the bandage into place. “You keep getting yourself hurt.”
“Job hazard.” His smirk is weak but still there. “Besides, I think you just like having an excuse to touch me.”
I roll my eyes, but my hands tremble slightly as I pack up the kit. I’m too aware of how warm his skin is under my fingertips, of the way Asher watches us from the other side of the room. And Damon… Damon hasn’t said a word, but I can feel his presence behind me like a live wire.
Zane must sense the tension because he shifts, wincing as he adjusts in the chair. “Relax, doc,” he says. “I’m not dying.”
“No, but next time, you might not be so lucky,” I snap, more sharply than I intended.
His smirk fades. “That’s what we signed up for, Mia.”
I stare at him, frustration and fear tangling in my chest. “I didn’t sign up for this.”
Silence.
Damon clears his throat. “We need to reassess security. This was a warning. Next time, it won’t be.”
As I turn to leave, Asher catches my arm, his grip firm but not forceful. The moment I meet his gaze, something shifts. The professional detachment he’s been clinging to cracks, revealing the raw emotion beneath.
“I can’t step back,” he whispers. “Not if it means failing to protect you.”
His voice is hoarse and strained, like it costs him something to admit this. My heart clenches, because I know what he’s really saying. This isn’t just about the job anymore.
“Then don’t,” I say simply.
His fingers flex around my arm, and he looks like he’s about to say something. For a second, I think he’s going to pull me closer. That he might kiss me right here, in front of Zane and Damon.
I step back, breath unsteady. The space between us feels charged. Dangerous in a way that has nothing to do with Jason Whitmore.
Without another word, I start walking away, but I can still feel his eyes on me.
Asher shakes his head, gritting his teeth. “I’ve got another week. I’ll do what I can during then.”
The words land like a physical blow. A week. He’s leaving in a week. I think about my daughters, and wonder how many more losses they can take. How many more I can take.
“He always finds us,” I whisper, more to myself than anyone else.
“Yeah,” Zane mutters. “Strange.”
He picks up Emma’s stuffed unicorn, the one Jason touched. Something in his expression sharpens. He runs his fingers over the seams, feeling for something. Then, without hesitation, he grips the tail and rips it off.
“Hey!” I object, reaching for it.
But Zane ignores me, sliding his fingers inside the torn fabric. His eyes darken. A second later, he pulls out a tiny electronic device, no bigger than a coin.
A tracker.
The room goes deathly quiet.
I stare at the bug, my breath coming too fast. My stomach twists, nausea clawing up my throat. All this time. He’s been listening. Watching. My hands curl into fists.
“Aren’t you going to destroy it?” I manage to ask, my voice shaking.
Asher shakes his head. “Then he’ll know we found it. We’ll leave it here.”
Damon’s eyes narrow. “We’re done playing defense. Pack up. We can’t stay here.”